I am standing in my boxers, upper half still cozy with my sweater and jacket insulating my organs.
I am standing, looking down. The bare feet, the soft green shower mat thing that sits around the toilet.
I am standing. I am standing.
I look down, my piss is oscillating as the warm fluid flows through my flaccid penis. My placid penis.
I am standing, staring at the brick, once covered in nothing, once covered in snow, currently partially encrusted with ice, the remainder of that ice shattered.
I look up, I see the shadow of the smoke as I exhale the ephemeral detriment.
I see that ‘detriment’ slowly fading, matching the pace of the burning cigarette.
Never has a cigarette been so satisfying.
Smoking it with intent. Not a habit, not a cigarette smoker, but smoking with a little bit of intent.
Make of that as you would prefer, or as you will, but to me… intent. That is something, that feeling is something, not unique to myself, but that moment, unique to myself.
I am sure I share it with countless others, others who stand there taking a break from life, pondering as they smoke their cigarette.
I will not let it take me over, I will be stronger than that.
I look at my facebook, devoid of meaning to me.
So I close it.
So I close my eyes.
I type as my eyes are closed, remembering.
This time, of moments so recent and so dear.
I think to myself.
Trihad niggas, if we ain’t together its cause y’all out spreading your wings and gettin bigger
I say to them: Spread your wings.
I see my bestfriend being a rapper. I do.
Most sincerely, I do.
Before I see my girlfriend as a girl, I must first see her as a friend.
It is in the moments that I do, that I hope more than anything that someday she’ll say ‘I do’.
See me first as Franklin. I must see others as they are, before imposing my own personality upon others.
I am blind.
I am blind.
I shall not drink to get drunk.
I shall get drunk as I drink.
I am me. At the end of the day, I remember.
I remember those niggas who always gonna be my niggas.
I turn down the sound.
I cannot muster enough ______ to get out of my bed and grab either my phone nor my headphones.
I am a writer. I would rather sit here and write.
I turn the music on, quietly, enough to be heard.
A delicate sound. So reassuring, so warm. “Khafole..”
The breath of air which all who have lived in the north experience, the cold, the dryness.
The cool dry inhale, more than cool, rather cold. So in a sense, less than cool, for it contains less kinetic energy.
That cold breath, on a hot day.
The ultimate relaxation as one falls asleep.
The hug, the hug.
This delicate sound, this music, is a hug.
Chance drops a tab of acid for your ear, to be honest I wanna trip acid all year.
To be honest.
What does it mean to do drugs. What does it mean to feel a sense of wholeness when tripping.
A sense of ultimate comfort, a sense of ultimate connection.
So much connection that I am otherwise blind to.
… I am blind.
Nikita Nenashev. You may know me better than I know myself, you saw me grow up.
Staying up late, talking, listening to music. Letting go of myself, in order to find myself.
Nothing pulling the strings of my heart or mind.
A soul at equilibrium.
Do others see me in a finer lens than I see myself?
When I took acid, I felt I finally had that fine lens once again.
I am open. When searching through youtube for music (Funny that it, for me, is all about music and not videos, interesting) I am searching for myself.
I am music. Whatever music it may be, we are all music.
Everyone has their reasons and their life.
I am missing.
I was going to end this blog there, but it reminds me.
I am missing.
I called the adoption agency in Appleton. Longstory short, I have more thinking to do. As far as their assistance, I can’t really get any.
I need to do this search on my own, I have to trace my own roots.
I am a tree.
Before I grow any taller, I must find my seed.
I want music.
I want music in my life. I want live music in my life. I want to be with people who can create music. I want live music. I crave it, I have too much electronic music, and I do not mean the genre, I mean electronic as in the limited vibrations that my headphones and speakers have, versus having an instrument in front of you.
(I am surprised, my phone has been next to me the whole time… literally next to my head)
I am craving.
I am craving the vibrations of the cello as it resonates next to my heart, as I put emotion into each stroke of the bow.
Investments: I invest my emotion into the movement of the bow.
Returns: I feel the therapeutical vibrations that music is, right against my heart.
Directly into my soul.
I am, I am Franklin.
I am not, 박정원.
At one point in time, in a few different points in time, I was 정원.
mais, maintenant, je suis Franklin.
I am not that good at active listening, I must be patient.